


Metaphysics of Scully, The

by scullyslash_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-03
Updated: 2002-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullyslash_archivist/pseuds/scullyslash_archivist
Summary: Reyes' musings about Scully and the events of the 8th season finale, "Existence"





	Metaphysics of Scully, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [ScullySlash](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Scully_Slash_Archive), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works.. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [ScullySlash's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/scullyslash/profile).

  
The Metaphysics of Scully

## The Metaphysics of Scully

#### by Susan P.

Title: The Metaphysics of Scully  
Author: Susan P.  
Feedback to:  
Author's Website:   
Status: Complete  
Category: UST, Angst  
Pairing (Primary): Scully/Reyes  
Pairing(s) (Secondary):   
Crossover Fandom (if any):   
Crossover Info (if any):   
Other Pairing Info:   
Rating: NC-17  
Spoilers: Major ones for "Existence", as well as references to "Empedocles," and other elements of the season 8 mytharc.  
Permission to Archive: ScullySlash, Down in the Basement, all others please ask first. No one other than myself should post this to any mailing list or newsgroup without first obtaining my permission.  
Series or Sequel/Prequel:   
Notes: Thanks to Tamy for being the first guinea pig on this.  
Warnings:   
Disclaimer: Lord, I *wish* I owned them. <Carter, 1013, Fox, blah, blah, blah>  
Summary: Reyes' musings about Scully and the events of the 8th season finale, "Existence"

* * *

I am bound to you now. As tied to you through your miracle as I am to John through his tragedy. I can only hope that the outcome will be much better for you. 

I don't know whether your child will be our salvation or our doom. Or whether he will simply be a boy who grows into a man--just like, and still unlike, any other. 

What I do know is that I regret nothing, except the fact that I really couldn't have protected you and your son if things had ended differently. 

When John first called me in to consult on Agent Mulder's disappearance, I had no idea that it was really your journey that was calling me. I thought it was his need I was responding to: my failure to save his son, or even catch his murderer, is a debt I can never repay. But it binds me to him, and when he calls, I do what I can. 

He called me, and I came. But this time it was all about you: your need, your journey. I knew that from our first meeting. I know I felt the pull of your energy from those first moments. And I felt that, despite your initial hostility, I had taken a turn onto whatever path you were bound to follow. I had no idea how that journey would change me. 

But I knew then that I would do whatever I could for you. I knew that someone or something would draw me to you again, and that when I got that call, I would come. 

It was my tie to John that next drew me to D.C. But, while I worked with your Agent Mulder and John on that case, I felt your pull even then. Something about his involvement with you allowed John to believe in his own visions again, I think. Because of that, he was there when I needed him. And there was another debt I owed. 

I felt then that the four of us were bound together in some way, for some purpose. I knew that, eventually, one of you would call. And that I would come, and do what I could for you. 

When the call came, I knew it was you who needed my help. I had no idea that my part in all this would include playing amateur midwife for the birth of your son. But, you met my quiet panic with equally quiet confidence. I don't know how you managed it, but your implicit faith in me gave me confidence and made me believe I could manage it somehow. After everything you'd been through, I couldn't fail you. 

The next day you seemed so impressed with how I'd managed to fix up the place for the birth, and I thought for a minute that I could do anything. I knew that I _would_ do anything if I could see that look on your face again. 

And then you said I reminded you of your sister. I was feeling less than sisterly toward you then. Well, maybe a different _kind_ of sister... But I was flattered to be compared to someone you obviously cared for deeply. 

And then you told me what had happened to her. I wanted nothing more than to ease your pain then, though I knew I couldn't. You shrugged off my clumsy attempt to comfort you, and it hurt a little, but it wasn't much of a surprise. Still, I almost felt I'd been given a gift in that little glimpse of your pain. You seem to keep so much bottled up, and you were carrying so much on your shoulders then. I just...hoped it was a sign that you might let me in, a little. 

That night, I watched you. Watched the candlelight flickering around you, accentuating your beauty. You were obviously a little hot and uncomfortable, and probably more than a little worried about what was to come. But, God, you looked lovely. 

And, finally I couldn't take it any longer. I let myself blurt out how very beautiful you were sitting there in the semi-dark. Everyone always says that pregnant women have a glow about them, and it sounds so cliche that it's easy to assume that that's all it is. But you were luminous, and I was struck by a sudden urge to blow out the candles and let you light our way. 

You seemed flattered by the compliment, but wouldn't allow yourself the indulgence of focusing on it. When you spoke, asking me about my feelings, I wondered if you could read me so easily. Scared and hopeful all at once that you might have recognized my desire. 

And then you asked whether I were feeling any vibrations, and the timbre of your voice sent fire burning through my veins. I had this sudden, powerful, vision of the two of us together: bodies intertwined, skin to skin. Me, curled protectively around your belly, a cheek pressed close to hear the heartbeat and feel the vibrations of the new life within you. And at the same time listening to your heartbeat, and the quickening of your breathing as I slid my fingers into your wet center, bathing my fingers in the abundant evidence of your desire. Wanting to give you this: the transcendence of your body, ripe with child, brought to the peak of pleasure and beyond into welcome release. Had anyone touched you like that during your pregnancy? Caressed the slick folds of your sex? Rolled your hard clit between their fingers? I wanted to be the one. Wanted to watch you as you came, hips arching into my touch, muscles contracting around my fingers. I wanted to give you a fresh memory of these more pleasant contractions to hold with you when the pain of the others hit. 

The vision seemed so real it shook me to the core. It was as if I could _feel_ you beside me, beneath me, surrounding me. And I could all but smell the salty tang of your arousal in the air. And in my moment of realization, my mouth went dry from wanting to taste you--to drink you in and slake the thirst I hadn't known was there. 

I tried to answer your question as best I could and stumbled out to get more water, though at that moment I needed it far more than you. I just needed to get away from you for a moment to cool off and try to push the image of you--of what I so desperately wanted--aside. I was sure I'd revisit that little fantasy again and again, when I was alone and free to indulge in it, but it was hardly appropriate now. 

I suppose I should be thankful to Billy Miles for showing up when he did. There's nothing so effective at killing desire than being thrown ten feet and slammed into a wall. And the adrenaline rush--once the terror had passed--helped me focus on what I needed to do. I had to survive. I had to protect you, and see you through the birth. And then I'd have the both of you to protect. 

When that sheriff 'killed' Miles, I thought we were safe. I thought she could be trusted. Something still felt 'off,' but I didn't sense anything sinister in her motives. I screwed up. I can't help but think that there could have been something I could have done to figure things out sooner and get you to a safer location in time for the birth. 

That sheriff. I can't describe the blind panic I felt when I saw those protrusions on her neck. Just like those on Billy's 'body.' I didn't know what she wanted, but I knew I had to get her away from you. I couldn't take the chance that she was after the baby. 

And I was foolish enough to think I could stop her with a little boiling water and a shotgun. When I cocked the gun and she looked back, I knew she wasn't as badly hurt as she should have been. And then I saw those 'people' coming out of the woods. Were they all like Billy? How many like him are out there, anyway? I knew even then that we were in serious trouble. 

But then I saw Billy Miles get up, and walk toward us. And the sheer horror of the situation--the scope of it--hit me. If we couldn't stop them... If we couldn't _kill_ them, how could I protect you, and your son, if they meant you harm? Even if they had been human, there were too damn many of them for me to stop them all. 

But the sheriff seemed so determined that your child be born. I didn't understand it. I still don't. But it was the only thing I had seen that allowed me room to hope. I tried to extract a promise that they wouldn't hurt you--either of you. I don't know what I expected, whether I could trust them at all, but I had to try. I prayed it would be enough to buy me the time and space to figure out some way to save you both. 

I did my best to reassure you that it would all work out. You were close, and I had to try to keep you as calm as possible and focused on what you had to do. But your pleading with them for your son tore at my heart. 

When I held that life--your son--in my hands, I knew I would plead too. Or do anything else I had to in order to save him. And you. 

I don't know why they all left without the child. I don't know whether it was because he wasn't what they expected or because he was. I'm not even sure which to hope for, because I'm still not entirely sure whose side they're on, or what they have planned. 

But, when I held your child, when I heard his cries, when I placed him in your arms... When I saw the two of you together--saw look on your face. It was so amazing. I had thought you were beautiful while pregnant, but you as a mother... It was almost too much. 

I knew then that I was tied to you both with a tether stronger than steel. And that I would do whatever was necessary to protect you, to protect him, and to keep the two of you together. 

I may not be a part of your life like Agent Mulder, or even like John, but I _will_ be there for you. Whenever you need me. When I get the call, I will come, and I will give my all. For you. And William. 

The end. 

May 2001 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Susan P.


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